His Heir, Her Honor (8 page)

Breakfast. Sweet and fruity. Crepes, perhaps?

She'd almost forgotten about that part of their discussion, so focused on how he'd pushed her away. At the base of those stairs, a decision waited. Gripping the banister, she stared down and weighed her options, her heart racing. Her gaze settled on another of those framed oil paintings of the Pyrenees. She gripped the railing tighter, the reminder of Carlos's tumultuous childhood softening her heart just when she most wanted an excuse to be with him.

The sweet and bready scent of breakfast drifted up the stairs and this time she inhaled deeply, unreservedly soaking in this simple moment of domesticity from her royal lover. Each breath brought a surge of desire and anticipation as she thought of him preparing the meal for her, of him following through on his promise. He was showing her he hadn't been rejecting her last night—he'd truly been thinking of her.

Right now, she wanted him every bit as much as she had last night when she'd been so overwhelmed with fears about her future. Her hand settled on her stomach. The open button poked against her sweater, reminding
her that all too soon she would need to put the concerns of her child first.

This could be her last chance to be with Carlos again.

Committed, she walked down the stairs and to the kitchen, the delicious aroma growing stronger. Her feet carried her closer, closer still, until she stopped in the cedar archway leading into the gourmet kitchen.

Carlos stood with his back to her, shuffling crepes from the stove to a serving platter. Plump raspberries and apricots filled a bowl. Her mouth watered, but more because of the broad shoulders of her personal chef than from the food itself. Her eyes lingered on his hands, as careful with the cuts on the apricots as he would be in the O.R. Strong, capable hands.

A copper tea kettle whistled and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Pouring the water over a tea leaf infuser, he glanced back at her.

Lilah spread her hands wide. “No tears.”

If he showed the least hesitation, she was out of here. She wanted him, but she'd made as much of a first step as her pride would allow.

He set aside a crystal flagon of syrup on the cutting board. His eyes flared with unmistakable heat. Her breath hitched at the power of his smile. Still, she didn't move, needing him to come to her.

One step at a time, he advanced, his limp reminding her of all the baggage they both brought to this encounter. Two wary people past the days of first-blush love.

Two people who couldn't deny the flame between them.

Carlos stopped in front of her in jeans and a plain
white T-shirt, his bare feet brushing her toes. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she answered, knowing full well neither of them referred to food. “No more talking.”

No more chances for doubts and reservations to steal this moment.

He nodded. She exhaled a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding.

His hands slid up to span her waist with a bold large grip. She cupped his shoulder, ready, eager to step into his embrace.

In one smooth move, he lifted her onto the granite counter. She gasped in surprise. The stone chilled through the denim of her jeans. “Wow, somebody's in a hurry. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to bolt your food?”

“Apparently nobody's ever had anything as delectable as you on the menu.”

He tore off a corner of the crepe and stirred it through the fruit. He brought the bite to her mouth. She tasted from his fingers. Her eyes slid closed at the burst of sensation on her tongue. The sweet fruit mixed with the lightly salty taste of his skin as he withdrew his fingers slowly. She couldn't resist sucking gently. His pupils widened in response. A low growl rumbled up his throat.

Pushing away the plate of crepes, she cupped the back of his neck, urging him closer.
Closer.
Until he stepped between her knees and kissed her. She tasted raspberries and syrup on his tongue. Apparently he'd sampled his own cooking along the way.

Her senses sharpened, the taste of him on her tongue, the scrape of his unshaven face under her fingers. The
scent of fresh-washed man and the food he'd prepared for her filled her as tangibly as he would soon fill her body.

Clamping her legs around his waist, she locked him nearer, gripped by the connection she'd been aching to recapture. She banned all other thoughts from her mind but the here and now.

His hand slid under the hem of her sweater, his touch fiery against her bare flesh. He tunneled further until sweeping the angora up and over her head. He growled low in appreciation as he cupped her breasts. The creamy lace provided a flimsy barrier between her and his circling thumbs. Her nipples went hard, the lace suddenly itchy, her skin everywhere tightening with a need for more of his touch, more of him.

Arching toward him, she pressed for a fuller connection and he took her cue well. His hands slid behind her and freed her bra in a deft sweep.

She bunched his T-shirt, gathering, raising until she flung the body-warmed cotton across the room to rest on top of her sweater. She made fast work of the top button and zipper on his jeans while he tugged hers down her hips, lifting her briefly, then pulled them down her legs. He backed away, removing her pants inch by torturous inch.

His washboard stomach gleamed in the morning sun as she looked her fill at the strong expanse of his chest. She reached to trace down, down, down further still, following the crisp sprinkling of hair in a narrowing trail to his open button, down the links of his open zipper.

No underwear.

Carlos flung her pants to the floor and stepped closer.
The granite felt cool and slick against the backs of her bare legs. Only her silky panties separated her from total exposure. Her eager hand freed his arousal and his eyes slid closed. He flattened a palm on the counter for a second as if to steady himself.

A surge of feminine power curled through her as she stroked him, her thumb rolling over the glistening first pearly dampening. His throat worked in a long swallow before he opened his eyes. The intensity, the raw passion in his gaze left her breathless.

With slow deliberation, he swiped two fingers through the raspberries, squeezed the juice along her collarbone and cleaned it away with his mouth. The warmth of his tasting tongue and the cool air provided the most delicious contrast on her oversensitized skin. He nipped the last taste up at the base of her neck, then scooped up more of the fruit, eyeing her chest with only a hint of warning that he intended to…

Yes.

The drizzle of warmed juice flowed over her like the desire spreading throughout her body. Her head fell back as he laved his undivided attention on one breast and then the other. The gentle sucking along her skin and the light rasp of his tongue sent shivers of pure pleasure down her spine. She gripped his shoulders, her fingernails sinking in deep. He braced a hand against the counter and leaned into her.

A fleeting thought chased through her mind, concern for his back, for the strain he thoughtlessly put on his body. “Carlos, let's take this to the sofa.”

Her fingers trailed down the flex of muscles on his back until she reached the puckered ridges of his healed flesh.

He popped a raspberry into her mouth. “I dreamed all night long about having you here.” Pulling her hands away and replacing them on his shoulders, he nipped up her shoulder to draw on her bottom lip. “Nothing's going to steal that fantasy from me.”

His words sent a thrill up her spine, almost chasing away her concern for him. She sought a way to express her worry without stinging his pride. “But what if…”

“What if my legs give way?” He raised an eyebrow and hooked a finger on either side of her skimpy panties. “Then you can join me on the floor and we'll finish there, because don't doubt for a minute we're taking this to the conclusion we both want.”

He twisted his fingers in the fragile fabric until her panties gave way. “I will see this through any and every way I can have you.”

Air brushed along her damp and needy core, stirring her higher. Just air, for heaven's sake. Her heart tripped over itself in anticipation of his touch.

He inched her hips nearer to the edge. “Condoms or no condoms? I'm clean. There's been nobody but you in a year.”

A year? His words along with the thick pressure of him, right there so close, teased her perilously near completion too fast.

“Go ahead,” he urged, “let go. I'll take you there again as many times as you want.”

His bold confidence sent a charge through her, reminding her of how he'd coaxed her to let go before. And she realized—he wasn't going to fall. He was in complete control of this moment between them.

“There is no need for a condom, Carlos. None. It's only you and me.”

Her fingers dug deeper into his flanks as he thrust inside, his low growl of possession echoing through the spacious kitchen. Clamping her legs around his waist again, she urged him deeper, faster. Still she wanted more of him, no restraint. She whispered her wishes, her wants, her secret fantasies in his ear, delighting in the feel of his throbbing response to her words.

Just like after that party, she lost herself in the frenzy of the moment. Even wondering all night long if this would happen, still the powerful need caught her unaware. She'd known their sex was one of a kind before, but her memories…well… Nothing could compare to the pulsing draw she felt now in his arms.

Carlos brought her just shy of release again and again until their bodies were slicked with sweat. The scent of them together blended with the sweet stickiness of the raspberries and sugary fruit juice.

Flattening her hands behind her on the counter, inching closer, closer again, hungry to be nearer still, she rolled her hips against his. Her eyes fluttered open and shut, giving her glimpses of the mountain range stretching across the horizon. They were completely isolated up here, alone to explore each other, to explore the complex, confused feelings that had erupted between them over the past few months.

His pulse throbbed in his temple. He dipped his head to her breasts, increasing her pleasure with a flick of his tongue. The tingling in her veins gathered low and pulsing, tighter still until she gasped.

Once.

Twice.

The third carried her moan of release to echo into the cedar rafters. Sweet sensations exploded inside her,
filling every corner until she could have sworn even the roots of her hair shimmered.

She bowed upward and into his arms as he thrust again, again, again, until finishing with a hoarse shout muffled against her neck. The throb of his completion triggered an aftershock through her. Caught unaware, she shuddered, her bare chest against his. Her arms went limp with exhaustion around his neck. She tried to hold on but her body had gone boneless with bliss.

Carlos's hold on her tightened just in time to keep her from slipping off the counter. “Lilah?”

“What?” she answered simply, unable to scrounge more than the single syllable.

His fingers dug deeper into her hips, giving only a second's forewarning of his increased intensity before he demanded, “Marry me.”

T
he force of his release still pounding through his veins, Carlos wondered how he'd let amazing sex steal his ability to think rationally. He hadn't meant to blurt out his proposal quite that way. As he'd prepared breakfast, he'd planned for something more…eloquent maybe, after they shared crepes in front of the soaring mountain view.

Feeling Lilah frozen in his arms relayed her shock, but not much else. He searched her face for some hint as to how she felt, but she quickly averted her eyes.

Silently, Lilah inched to the side and back to the floor. She snatched his T-shirt from the butcher block and yanked the white cotton over her head in a swift move. With defiant eyes, she all but dared him to comment on the fact she wore his shirt.

Her bravado waning fast, her hands shook as she
pulled free her sex-tousled hair. “Um, we've already had sex, more than once I might add. So a proposal for ‘compromising' me isn't in order.”

“You didn't answer.” He zipped and buttoned his jeans, wincing.

Fisting her hands by her side, she finally faced him full-on. “My answer is no.”

Her refusal stung him more than he would have expected. He didn't want to get married, damn it. “I thought you would be happy. You didn't even think about my proposal.”

“And you did?” she retorted.

He might be confused about a number of things when it came to this woman, but he could answer this question honestly. “It's all I thought about.”

“Why did you ask me? And why now of all times?” She padded closer across the tile until she stood toe-to-toe with him. “Is it because I shed a few tears last night? Am I suddenly one of your needy cases to save?”

“I want the child to be mine.” He gripped her shoulders, working to keep the fierceness inside him from escaping. “I want to protect you both. Is that so wrong?”

She shook her head fiercely. “That's not the same as believing me.”

Why did she have to keep pushing this? He was doing what she must have wanted from the start. What he had to do now. “I'll take care of you and the baby, claim it as mine, regardless of what the test shows. You and I are alike. We make a logical match.”

“A logical match,” she repeated cynically. “Your single life suited you fine up to now. You've said so yourself on more occasions than I can count. In the
four years we've known each other, you haven't even hinted—”

Frustration tore at his gut as he tried to find the right words to offer her. “What the hell do you think that night we spent together was about?”

“I don't know, Carlos.” Her jaw went tight, but she didn't shed even one of the tears sheening in her eyes. “I do know that the months that followed were about you moving on as if I didn't exist. Maybe I'm not as logical or practical as you believe, because I couldn't just rationalize away the time we spent together.”

He should have waited and proposed as he'd planned, in more of a romantic setting. He scrambled for something to say to give her more of the flowers and stars kind of affirmation he should have offered in the first place. “What we experienced rocked me.”

“That's it? I rocked your world?” Shaking her head, she backed up. “Well, hello, you rocked my world, too. It's called great sex. Not something particularly logical to build a marriage on.”

Spinning away, she made fast tracks toward the stairs, proving loud and clear how badly he'd messed up.

“Lilah! Lilah, damn it. Let's talk this out.” He started after her.

His cell phone rang from beside the bowl full of raspberries and memories of tasting Lilah. He reached to thumb the ignore button, only to hesitate when he saw his youngest brother's number on the caller ID. He had to take the call. Maybe giving Lilah a few minutes to cool down would be a wise idea anyway.

“Antonio?” he said into his phone. “Speak to me and it better be important.”

“It is.” His brother's voice filled the airwaves. “It's
our father. He's taken a turn for the worse. The doctors don't expect him to live through the week if he doesn't get a liver transplant.”

 

Leaving Vail far behind, Lilah peered through the airplane window at the dark sky and clouds. From her work at the hospital, she'd seen often enough how a family health crisis derailed any other concerns.

Just when she'd thought her life couldn't be flipped upside down any further.

Once she'd returned to the kitchen in her clothes, she'd been ready to roll out a speech she prepared, asking him to stop any further marriage proposals or she would leave. The news about his father had changed everything. Carlos had asked her to come with him. How could she say no?

This could be her only chance to meet her child's grandfather. She could learn important information about Carlos that might help her deal with him in the future.

And there was one completely illogical, emotional reason to stay right by his side. She couldn't let him face his father's death alone, especially not when he'd asked for her. Carlos never asked for anything for himself. Ever.

So here she sat, on the plane with him again. This time they were flying through the night sky to some super-secure island off the coast of Florida, which was more information than she'd ever read in the media about the location of his well-protected father. That Carlos would tell her such a closely guarded secret stirred a scary kind of hope inside her. In spite of his unromantic proposal chock-full of “practical” and “logical” reasons to get
married, they obviously still shared a respect and trust that they'd possessed once upon a time as friends.

Well, at least as far as either of them seemed capable of trusting, which wasn't saying much.

Sitting across from her as before, Carlos checked his messages, his face inscrutable. The window beside him displayed the receding U.S. shore as they traveled over a murky view of ocean waters.

Their packing and leaving had been so rushed she'd barely had a chance to process their explosive encounter in the kitchen. The scent of raspberries still clung to her skin even after her hurried shower.

The casual lover was long gone now, replaced by the preoccupied doctor she knew so much better. His gray suit was tailor-made, fine quality, yet it hung a bit loose on his lean muscled body, as if he worked so hard he forgot to eat—or get a haircut. She clenched the armrests to resist the temptation to stroke back the salt-and-pepper hair brushing his brow.

With a muttered curse, he jammed his phone inside his jacket again.

She toyed with a loose string along the hem of her dress, her clothing options becoming limited until she went shopping for maternity jeans. “Anything new about your father's condition?”

Shifting uncomfortably in his leather seat, he shook his head. “Only a message from my youngest brother confirming our arrival time.”

“I'm sorry. You must be frantic.”

He stared at his hands clasped loosely between his knees. “It's not like I haven't known this day was coming soon.”

“We've both seen enough cases at the hospital to realize that preparation doesn't erase the pain.”

“Talking about it won't change anything.” He waved away her sympathy and straightened abruptly. “I apologize for springing the whole family on you so abruptly. I had planned to hold off on that until the end of our time alone.”

Surprise cut through her. He'd never mentioned planning this trip to meet his relatives. More of those confused and warily hopeful feelings stirred in her gut. “Both of your brothers are already there?”

“My brother Antonio, his wife and stepson. Duarte and his fiancée. And my half sister is there with her husband. I'm surprised she traveled so late in her pregnancy, but Antonio said she's emphatic about being there.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if battling a headache. “Sorry to introduce so many people at once. The estate is large enough for you to have your own space if you need to escape. My brothers and I each have our own wing. There's also a guesthouse if you prefer that to staying with me. “

“I'm sure your wing will be fine.”

“The island is secure, without question, but there's everything you could need there. Our father built it all—from a clinic to a chapel to an ice cream parlor café. He said he wanted us to have ‘normal' childhood memories, whatever those are.”

“It sounds like your father tried to do his best in an unimaginable situation.”

“The violence directed at our family was very real and damn dangerous.” He extended his legs in front of him, drawing her attention to the way his muscular thighs stretched the fine gabardine, the sinews defined
so well that the veneer of luxury didn't begin to mask the raw power of the man underneath the clothes. “Actually, I appreciated the privacy when I lived there. My brothers hated it on the island, but I didn't want any part of the real world again.”

Why had he left if he felt that way? Then she realized. “Now I understand how you work those insane hours at the hospital. You actually don't mind being cut off from day-to-day life.”

Carlos arched an eyebrow, half smiling. “Is that a loaded question to figure out if I can change enough where you could envision living with me?”

Admiration and attraction weren't going to be enough to make a relationship work. “You're assuming I'm willing to live with you.”

All humor faded from his face. “I want us to do more than live together. I meant what I said back in the kitchen. I want us to be married.”

Married?

The word still packed a powerful jolt. She knew part of her knee-jerk reaction to the idea had to do with the train wreck that was her parents' screwed up union. But she knew this would be rushing it.

As much as she didn't want to upset him when he had such heavy worries about his father, she couldn't let this marriage nonsense continue. What if he said something in front of his family? “If you keep proposing, I'll have to sleep in that guesthouse. This was about no pressure, remember?”

“Then let's back up to the living together.” His eyes narrowed with that sleepy-sexy look she was beginning to recognize so well. “More importantly, let's get back to
not sleeping
together.”

His words stirred memories of frantic lovemaking on the counter, bringing the sweet taste of raspberries exploding through her senses like the aftershocks of a world-rocking orgasm. She suspected he wasn't really serious, but rather found such outrageous talk a distraction from concerns about his father.

All the same, she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, leather creaking as the tension and the need inside her increased. “Now that you've mentioned sleeping, I think I'll catch a catnap for the rest of the flight.”

“Fine,” he said, a wicked gleam mingling with the steam in his eyes. “But remember that bacon cheeseburger and mint milkshake you said you'd been craving? The steward has both ready for you. Of course, I can cancel the order.”

Her mouth watered. And quite frankly, she welcomed the lighter air he seemed determined to inject. Weightier concerns would come soon enough once they landed. “You're using food to blackmail an expectant mother into conversation? That's not playing fair.”

“I'm only trying to help,” he said practically. “I want to take care of you. Not just what you eat or helping you with an aching back. Getting married makes sense.”

Deftly, he'd shifted the conversation right back to that confusing proposal of his. What was his real motive for this about face?

Yet what did
she
want? Her heart clenched as she realized she was more like her mother than she cared to admit, because she did want the fairy-tale romanticism after all. “Thank you, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm capable of taking care of myself.”

Silence stretched between them until she looked away, focusing instead on the view below where Carlos's
family waited. And what about
her
family? She couldn't delay calling them for much longer. She just wanted to have her life more settled first.

She wanted to have her feelings for Carlos resolved.

In the distance, an island rested in the middle of the murky ocean. Palm trees spiked from the landscape, lushly thick and so very different from the leafless snowy winter they'd left behind.

Curiosity about Carlos's home drew her until she nearly had her nose pressed to the glass as she catalogued details. It was a small city unto itself, a surprise splash of lights in the sea so vast that, like a Lite-Brite design on the water, the island began to take shape. A dozen or so small outbuildings dotted a semicircle around a larger structure, what appeared to be the main house, bathed in floodlights.

The white mansion faced the ocean in a U shape, constructed around a large courtyard with a pool. Details were spotty in the dark. Soon enough she would get an up close view of the place where Enrique Medina had lived in seclusion for over twenty-five years, a gilded cage for his sons to say the least. Even from a distance she couldn't miss the grand scale of the sprawling estate.

The intercom system crackled a second before the pilot announced, “We're about to begin descending to our destination. Please return to your seats and secure your lap belts. Thank you, and we hope you had a pleasant flight.”

Her stomach knotted with nerves over meeting his family.

Engines whining louder, the plane banked, lining up
with a thin islet alongside the larger island. A single strip of concrete marked the private runway, blinking with landing lights in the night. As they neared, a ferryboat came into focus. To ride from the airport to the main island? They sure were serious about security.

She thought of his father, a man who'd been overthrown in a violent coup. The detailed planning of the island made her wonder if every step this family made had ulterior motives. Nothing seemed left to chance.